


Fenris by Fenris

by Rhube



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memories regained, Memory Loss, Selfcest, magical mishap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2018-10-13 23:43:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10524402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhube/pseuds/Rhube
Summary: Fenris attempts to regain his past when Xenon invites him to purchase a 'Box of Memories'. The powder inside reacts with the lyrium in his markings to super-power the effect. Fenris awakes in pain to find a younger version of himself, without the markings, staring at him.How will Fenris deal with the sudden presence of Leto in his life? How will it affect Fenris's romance with Hawke, which had foundered when incomplete memories began to resurface? What will Leto make of Kirkwall, freedom, and this vision of his future? Or the handsome healer who is trying to help him...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I should not be starting a new project, but I my mind just keeps spinning plot bunnies and I can't throw them all at the kink meme.
> 
> I don't know where this is going. It will evolve as it progresses and tags will be updated. Join me on the adventure!

Blood pounding in his head like the thump of a hammer. Flashes of light. His markings positively sizzling with energy, as though awash with a lightning spell.

Someone was shouting.

“Of all the _stupid, idiotic_ – why would you let him do this?” Maker, who was that, and why wouldn’t they shut up? “Why would he want to do this?” Ugh, he knew that voice. “Why would you do this without even talking to me first? Without any kind of healer here?” The mage. The abomination. The abomination was shouting about him. Of course.

Fenris groaned and tried to sit up.

A hand on his shoulder, gently pressing him back down. Another under his head.

“Easy,” the mage again.

Fenris wanted to push him away. Anders was the last person he wanted touching him. But his strength seemed to have completely abandoned him.

“You’re practically fizzing with magic. I think even trying to heal you would just make it worse. Just lie still until it’s dissipated a bit more.”

“What’s wrong with him?” A new voice. A familiar voice. Deep and rich. How did he know that voice?

He felt the mage move away from him. “You,” Anders said. “Over there. Sit down and don’t move. I have enough to deal with.”

Fenris turned his head in the direction the other voice had come from, hearing the retreating sound of feet obeying the mage. How did he know that voice? He cracked his eyes open.

Blinding light. Like daggers to his retinas.

His eyelids snapped closed and he groaned again.

More fussing about him. His head was gently lifted and a cushion placed beneath it. _Maker_ , what _was_ wrong with him?

He tried again to open his eyes. Slowly. It was painful, but manageable. He was looking up at the ceiling in the main hall of his mansion. But it was so bright. It was never this bright in here. Unless…

He raised an arm and tilted his head up to regard it. The motion caused the throbbing in his head to flare up more, but he ignored it. It only took a second to confirm his suspicions.

He was the source of the light. His markings. Flaring bright white. He tried to dampen the glow, and the light flickered for a moment, but it was too much. Power was coursing through him, and it was easier to let it be.

“Hey, what did I tell you about moving?” The mage leaning over him again, taking his arm, easing it back to the ground. “I know it must be uncomfortable, but I think it’s best if you just let the energy flow out through them for the moment. You don’t want it trapped in your body.”

Fenris tried to respond, but could only manage a grunt. Anders patted his hand in what was probably supposed to be a comforting gesture.

He turned his head and looked past the mage. There was a figure sitting in the corner. Something about him… it was like he knew that figure, but had never seen him before.

Anders followed his gaze.

“Yes, well,” he said. “That’s your fault. I never thought you’d be the one to mess about with experimental magic. _Especially_ with these as an over-powered wildcard." He gestured to Fenris’s body. The markings. He meant the markings.

What had happened? What had he done?

The tickle of a memory. An invitation from Xenon to visit the Black Emporium. A special item that would be of interest. The Box of Memories. A fine powder dissolved into water and…

And blinding light. An impossible wrenching across his body.

The familiar-feeling stranger met his eyes. He knew those eyes. Knew them from the cracked mirror in his bedroom.

The hair was wrong. Jet black. And there were no markings on his chin. But the eyes… those were his eyes. His face.

Fenris was looking at himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags and description updated because, hey, I now know some of where this is going :)

Anders worked on making Fenris more comfortable by stages. First the cushion, then a blanket. Then a divan dragged through from another room and placed at his side, and he and Hawke lifting the prone elf as smoothly as possible up on to it. Fenris protested, weakly, but was unable to do more than moan and swat at his side ineffectually.

The other Fenris had started forward, when they’d gone to get the divan.

“I can help,” he’d said, looking with concern at his white-haired twin.

Anders had shot him a dark look. “No. You’re going to sit right there and be safe and still until we get back. Varric?”

“I’ll watch them, Blondie,” the dwarf had said, although he was much too casual with the angle of his crossbow for Anders’ liking. For all they knew he might have two patients, or one patient and a demon.

But nothing had come of it, and as they settled Fenris – _their_ Fenris - on the divan, Anders caught the slump of the other one’s shoulders, and realised how lost and alone he looked.

He cleared his throat and walked over to him. The elf didn’t retreat, but bowed his head.

“Are you alright?”

“I…” he darted a glance up at Anders, then looked down again. “Am a bit confused.”

“Well, I think that makes all of us,” said Anders. The elf’s mouth twitched with a smile, but his eyes stayed focused on the ground. “Look up for me, please,” Anders said.

He did so immediately, but his eyes stayed focused away from Anders’ own, over his shoulder.

“Look at me,” he said, keeping his tone gentle.

Large green eyes met his, so familiar it was unsettling. The calm curiosity in that gaze. The submissiveness in his posture. The ease and lack of tension in the way he stood. He looked like the same man, but he was also clearly different.

“Do you have any pain?” Anders asked.

“No.”

“Stiffness? Aches? Weird tingles?”

The elf snorted, but not with derision. He was actually smiling, Fenris never smiled at anything Anders did, except to mock him. “No,” the elf said. “I feel fine. Just… very confused.”

Anders frowned, thinking. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Leto,” the elf answered.

Anders took a step back. “So you’re not him.”

Leto frowned, looking over at Fenris. “Well, I… no. Who’s he, then?”

“Fenris,” Anders said, watching Leto for his reaction. “Does the name mean anything to you?”

Leto’s frown deepened. “I don’t know anyone called Fenris, but I think it means… in Old Tevene, doesn’t it mean ‘wolf’, or something?”

“Little wolf,” Hawke corrected, from where he sat on a chair, beside Fenris.

“But beyond that…?” Anders pressed.

Leto shook his head.

Anders nodded. No further help there, then. “Is it alright if I use magic on you?”

Leto looked at him, confused again. “Of course,” he said.

“Huh,” said Anders. “Well, you’re definitely not Fenris.”

He reached out with his magic, drawing on Justice’s insight, too, to see if he could detect anything spiritually wrong, but apart from the fact that he looked nearly identical to Fenris, Leto appeared to be a perfectly normal elf.

Anders sighed. “You _seem_ fine.” He turned away, “Hawke, where’s that box? I want to take a look at what’s left of what he took again.”

“Uh,” the noise behind him made him turn back. “Forgive me…Meserre? I’m not sure how to address you. I do not wish to cause offense, but I don’t know how I got here and… I don’t think…” he was frowning deeply now, but keeping his eyes down. “Was I sold? Are you my master?”

Anders’ eyes opened wide and he stepped back. Behind him, he heard Fenris sit up, and the room brightened as his markings slipped free of the covers.

“No!” Anders and Fenris spoke at the same time.

Leto flinched, his shoulders hunching in and his head dropping down. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell, and I don’t remember. Please forgive me. Please tell me who owns me now.”

Anders could hear Fenris spluttering behind him. He didn’t need this excitement. Anders should see to him, but he couldn’t let this other elf go on believing… “No,” Anders repeated. “Leto, you’re no one’s slave. You’re in Kirkwall. There’s no slavery here. You’re a free man.”

Leto looked up, his shock evident. “But… no… the competition. Varania – Mother – are they free as well?”

Anders shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know Varania or your mother. There’s just you… and him.”

Leto’s eyes locked on to Fenris. He seemed quite upset.

He moved without warning, striding over to the divan and grabbing Fenris’s arm, running his fingers along the tattoos. “You!” he said. “You have them. The markings. You won.”

“I didn’t _win_ anything,” Fenris said through gritted teeth, snatching his arm back and grunting with the pain. “These were… _forced_ upon me. They’re not a prize. They are _torture_.”

Leto closed his eyes, and tears ran down his cheeks. “I was supposed to win,” he whispered. “If I’d won, they would be free – not me. If I’m free, then they’re not.”

A suspicion was growing in Anders’ mind, but there was no time for it now. “Hey,” he said, resting a hand on Leto’s arm. “It’s OK. We don’t know _what’s_ happened. Don’t – don’t jump to conclusions. Why don’t you sit down, too,” he guided Leto to another chair, a little way away from where Fenris and Hawke were seated. “Varric?” he called. “Why don’t you see if Fenris has anything to drink that isn’t wine? Water would be fine.”

“Sure, Blondie,” the dwarf said.

***

Anders got a chair and sat down with Leto. The man had wiped the tears from his face, but he looked utterly dejected.

He was examining the box again. A small amount of powder remained.

There was definitely lyrium, he could tell that – as if Fenris needed any more in his system. Flakes of elfroot and embrium – something that might be rashvine. Regenerative herbs, with a hefty dose of lyrium dust to give them punch. The pieces of the puzzle were fitting together, but he didn’t like what they showed.

Anders touched Leto’s hand. “I’ll be back in a moment, I just need to talk to Fenris, OK?”

Leto nodded, not meeting his eyes.

“Hey, Fenris,” Anders said, walking over to the divan.

Fenris was sitting up now, drinking water, too. The look he gave Anders spoke to the pain his was still in, but the glow of his markings had dimmed a bit.

“You took this to try to get your memories back, right?”

The elf shrugged.

“I think I know what this is. Sort of.”

“Well?” The elf glared at him with red-rimmed eyes.

“I think the base mixture is something healers give to people with dementia. A kind of memory potion. It can help regenerate parts of the brain that are failing. Sometimes it helps, although mostly it just slows the process. This though…” he ran a finger through the residue. “Someone boosted the base ingredients with lyrium dust, maybe a few other things too. That, combined with the lyrium in your markings… I think it went overboard and then some.”

“What do you mean?” Fenris said, his voice showing deep tiredness. “I don’t remember anything more than I did yesterday.”

“No,” said Anders. “But he does.”

Fenris’s eyes flicked to Leto. “He – he thinks I won some competition.”

“Maybe you did.”

“No,” Fenris said, sharply. “No. I never wanted these. No one would.”

“He did,” Anders said, gently. “He says he was trying to free his mother and sister. He’s… currently very upset because he thinks he lost… or that he never competed, I guess. What if, instead of regenerating your memories, the potion reacted with the lyrium in your markings and… generated him?”

Fenris stared at Leto, who could not have heard their hushed conversation, but was aware of their scrutiny.

“N-no,” Fenris said. “I – no.”

Hawke reached out to take Fenris’s hand, but he jerked away. “No!” he repeated.

“OK,” Anders said, holding up his hands and stepping back. “It’s only a thought. You just… rest a bit more.”

Anders retreated and beckoned over to Varric. “I think it would be good to keep them separate until Fenris has recovered a bit. And I think Leto could do with somewhere quiet to rest. Can you have a look and see if any of the other rooms are passible? Not one with bodies in.”

Varric nodded. “Some of that wine might not be such a bad idea,” he said.

Anders shook his head. “They’re confused enough as it is. Just… see if you can find somewhere. They might be better off at Hawke’s in the long run, but I don’t want to move Fenris just yet.”

“OK, Blondie,” he said. “You’re the healer.”

“Yes,” he replied. “But I do wish people would remember that _before_ things are too late to fix.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders tells Leto his suspicions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, umm, it might take a while before we get to any steamy bits. Please enjoy this slice of angst.

“Don’t let him move until the markings have completely dimmed,” Anders told Hawke, “and then, come get me.”

“What if I need to relieve myself?” Fenris said, acidly.

Anders glanced around until his eyes laid on a dusty brass bowl with what might once have been fruit in it. He tipped it out, gave it a quick cleansing spell, then thrust it at Hawke.

“Then you piss in this, and Hawke helps you.”

“He _what?_ ” Fenris tried to sit up, but too fast for what his body had been through. He groaned and laid back down, glaring at Anders.

“You heard me,” Anders said, then turned away, taking a staring Leto by the elbow.

There was something refreshing in the way this new, dark-haired elf didn’t flinch away from his touch and allowed himself to be led.

Refreshing, but also disquieting. He’d need to be careful about that. Leto seemed at best unconvinced, and at worst downright upset, at the thought that he was no longer a slave.

“Varric’s found you a room,” Anders said, letting go of the other man’s arm as he led him away from Fenris’s main hall. “Knowing Fenris it’ll be dusty and disused, but we got you some fresh sheets and blankets.”

“Thank you… Meserre,” Leto said.

“Anders,” he replied, flashing Leto what he hoped was a comforting smile. “Call me Anders.”

“Anders,” Leto said. “Thank you.”

The room was a little ways away from those that Fenris regularly used, and they passed some dark stains that Anders recalled all too well as an army of demons. He was aware of Leto eyeing them with interest and hurried him past them.

Leto was dressed in much the same clothes that Fenris usually wore, and it occurred to Anders that, if his theory was right, Leto had most likely been naked when he… came into being.

Those _were_ Fenris’s clothes, then. And they showed off even more of his tight frame than Fenris usually did, being absent the armour.

Leto was just as muscular as Fenris, perhaps slightly more so. A fighter, then. Maybe not so put off by bodies and viscera. Still, not what a person needed to see in their first hours after appearing from nowhere.

Varric was standing at the door, waiting for them, and stepped aside to show them through.

“Bed’s a bit creaky, but the mattress is well-stuffed,” the dwarf said. “There’s some water, bread, and cheese on the night stand.”

“Thanks, Varric,” Anders said. It was better than he’d hoped. The dust was thick, and there were more cobwebs than he was entirely comfortable with, but in many ways the room was in better repair than a lot of the rooms Fenris actually used. “Will you give us a minute?”

Varric nodded. “I’m going to head on over to Hawke’s. There’ll be better food and drink and maybe a few other things. Want me to get anything from your clinic?”

Anders shook his head. “No,” he said. “I think rest is mostly what they need. Thanks.”

The dwarf nodded and left them alone.

Leto stood loosely, but still, his head bowed. Waiting for orders.

“Leto,” he said, gently, “You’re not a slave.”

The elf looked up. Those eyes again… “I’m… sorry,” Leto said. “I’m just not sure what I’m… supposed to do, I guess.”

Anders took a deep breath and sighed. “No, well, that’s a symptom of freedom. Come on,” he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Sit down and let’s talk.”

Leto sat with grace, but also precision. He looked at Anders closely – not his face, but his body. _Looking for clues about what I want from him,_ Anders thought. _Maker, how do I handle this?_

Leto sat neither too close, nor too far away, hands folded neatly in his lap, body angled towards Anders.

“How old are you?” Anders asked. Not the question he’d thought he might ask, but somehow the one that came out of his mouth. There was something about Leto that felt both very young, and yet much more mature than his appearance gave off.

Leto surprised him by meeting his eyes and tilting his head. “I don’t know,” his said, “How old am I?”

Anders heart skipped a beat. Had Leto heard his hushed conversation with Fenris after all? “What do you mean?” Anders asked. “I thought – I thought you remembered – that you had all your memories.”

Leto frowned and pursed his lips, breaking eye contact. “You look at me like you think I’m not… I’m not normal. You thought I was that other man. The one who looks like me. But I’m not. I don’t know how I got here. I _know_ something’s not right about me. You don’t think I’m really what I look like, do you? Do you think I’m… not really an elf? Do you think I’m something else? A - a demon?”

Anders could hear the fear in Leto’s voice now, though he was trying to contain it. “Leto, no,” he said, resisting the urge to put a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. “Leto, look at me.” Large green eyes looked back in the candlelight, obeying without question, though Anders could read the fear there.

“I examined you, Leto, and I can assure you that you’re definitely an elf. I think you’re exactly what you look like.” _Because you look like a younger version of Fenris_. “But I think how you got here is very strange, and I want to make sure you’re OK. To that end… it would help to know a few things about you, that’s all.”

Leto sighed, and nodded. He looked a little reassured, but the worry hadn’t entirely left his face. “I’m nineteen,” he said. “To the best of my memory.”

“And you’ve no gaps in your memory?” Anders asked.

Leto shrugged. “I can’t say I remember everything that’s happened in my life perfectly. But more or less.”

“And the last thing you remember, you were a slave in Tevinter. And you were going to compete in a competition.”

Leto frowned. “Well, I… I suppose that is a bit hazy. I thought I had fought in it. I thought I’d won. But it’s a bit… people get that way in battle, don’t they, sometimes? And I can’t have won. I don’t have the markings. That other man does. Is this… is this something to do with them?”

How to answer that? “In a way,” Anders said, resting his hands on the bedspread behind him and leaning back. “I think. I don’t know anything for sure, but I’m starting to get an idea.”

Leto looked askance at him, raising a dark eyebrow. “And are you going to tell me that idea?” He was so like Fenris in that moment it made Anders shiver.

“I don’t want to scare you with something I’m not even sure of yet,” Anders hedged.

Leto’s other eyebrow raised. “And you don’t think that’s an at all frightening thing to say?”

Anders groaned, sat forward, and rubbed his face. “Sorry, I usually have a better bedside manner than this.” He’d run out of ways to avoid it. If Leto wanted to know, he had a right to. “I can tell you some of the things I know, and then some of the things I think," he said. "I know that Fenris was a slave in Tevinter. I know that he doesn’t remember anything of his life before he received those markings. He’s not told me much, but he’s said enough for me to know that it was a very painful procedure, and I suspect they still give him pain.”

Anders began counting off the things he knew on his fingers. “I know the markings are lyrium, and they give him powers I’ve never seen in anyone else. I know those powers give him a connection to the Fade, although I know very little about the nature of that connection. I know that earlier today he took a mixture of regenerative herbs and lyrium dust – something that he should never be ingesting, given the amount of lyrium already embedded in his skin. As a result, he’s still expelling energy from his body in a way I can’t hope to control and can only pray doesn’t do him serious damage.”

Anders knew he was nearing the stuff that would be difficult for Leto to hear, and he gave a sad smile. “I know that to Hawke and Varric, you seemed to appear out of the light Fenris was emitting after he took that mixture. And I know that Fenris was trying to recover his memories.”

Leto was looking at him expectantly. “I think,” he said, “I think that in some sense… you are those memories. Somehow… pulled from the Fade, maybe? Or generated from his body, and all that raw power and a handful of regenerative herbs. I don’t know, exactly. There’s a lot we don’t know about Fenris. But you… the little you’ve said about what you remember. It would make sense.”

Leto stared at him wide-eyed. Then he looked down and wrapped his arms about himself. “Oh,” he said.

“Leto… I’m sorry,” Anders said, raising a hand, then letting it fall. “I should have found a better way to say that. Or I should have put off saying it. This is all… a bit much. I’m sorry.”

“No,” the elf sniffed. “I asked.”

“Are you alright?”

“No,” Leto said, and then chuckled. “It’s completely unbelievable. Every word of what you just said. And if it’s true, then… well. Then I’m not even really real, am I?” He gave a strange little huff, somewhere between laughter and panic. “But it makes sense. All the facts – the things you say you know. The things… everyone else has said. The way everyone’s behaving…”

Leto was trembling.

“Hey,” Anders said, worried now. _I should have lied_ , he thought, but the part of him that was Justice rejected that. It would have been wrong to deceive him. He deserved to know. “Hey,” he said again, and this time he did reach out, stroked Leto’s bare arm, hoped it would give him some kind of grounding. “You’re definitely real,” he said. “That’s not what I meant. You’re… in many ways you’re a perfectly normal elf. You just…”

“Came into being this afternoon?” Leto asked. “Stepped out of the Fade? Emerged from your friend’s markings?” Panic was definitely building in his voice now. “It would sound ridiculous if it didn’t feel so… true.” Leto closed his eyes and tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Oh, hey, no,” Anders murmured, pulling the younger man into his arms. “Don’t think like that. You’re still… everything you remember. You just…”

“Didn’t exist four hours ago?” Leto was breathing hard now, and as he clutched at Anders’ coat, the breaths turned into sobs.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” he said. “It’s just a guess, I-” _I didn’t think you’d believe me. Fenris didn’t believe me_. But then, Leto wasn’t Fenris. Or at least, he wasn’t in as many ways as he was. He remembered none of the hardships Fenris had endured, and he had won none of the battles Fenris had. He likely had whole other hardships of his own, but did he share the same resolve? The same stubbornness and resilience? Wasn’t Fenris’s closed-mindedness itself a protection?

Anders stopped trying to reason or explain, but held Leto in his arms until the sobbing passed.

“I’m sorry,” Leto said eventually, sitting up and wiping his eyes. “I must seem so _weak_ to you.” There, a little of that spite that had so often been directed at Anders, but now turned inwards on himself. “I just… this afternoon I fought – it feels like I fought – and killed, many men. I knew them. Most of them I knew. But I thought it would be worth it. I thought, if I won, I could use my boon, and… But that didn’t happen, did it?” He frowned. “Or it did, and it was years ago. How many years?” His bloodshot eyes snapped to Anders’.

Anders could only shrug. “I don’t know. At least four years, but probably longer. I don’t know how long Fenris was on the run before he found us. I don’t know how long he was in Danarius’s service before that.”

Leto closed his eyes and nodded. “Danarius. Yes. That was the magister’s name. The one who came to the slave pens, the one who had the competition.” He sighed. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Anders said, but in his heart, he thought it probably was.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris struggles to accept what Leto might mean to him. Anders is protective of Leto.

Fenris struggled to sleep.

They hadn't wanted to move him, so Hawke had made a rough pallet up next to the divan and stayed to watch over him. Anders had sat with Hawke to talk for a while, then made up a bed in one of the other rooms.

Eventually, the light from his markings petered out, and Hawke had fallen asleep.

Fenris's skin burned, as though his flesh were newly seared with lyrium. Even if his mind could have stopped turning over the events of the day, the pain alone would have kept him from rest.

Hawke was here, by his side, but still as far away as ever. He wanted to weep, but refused the tears that threatened his eyes and stared blindly into the darkness.

He remembered no more of his life than he had that morning. He had risked everything - messed stupidly with forbidden magic in a way even the abomination scorned - and for nothing.

He hadn't realised it was magic. He was such a fool. The mixture came from an establishment run a maleficar, a shop whose business was to sell items steeped in dark arts. But it had seemed a simple potion. It wasn't only mages who made potions, and mixing the ingredients of this one had required no magic. But somehow neither Hawke nor himself had realised it contained lyrium.

The tattered remnants of the memories that had resurfaced when he'd slept with Hawke fluttered around the edges of his consciousness.

A girl in a simple smock. Red hair and dusty fingers.

A woman. Barely an image. Not hair, not face, just a sense of someone he instinctively knew was his mother.

And other, darker memories. Memories of events from after he'd received his markings, pushed to the back of his mind only to rush forward now.

Of being touched by a hand that wasn't Hawke's. Touched and violated and used.

Bitterness flooded him at the unfairness of it. That finding intimacy with Hawke should have shoved these other, crueler memories to the fore, while the childhood he longed to recover returned only in flashes and hints.

He knew - _knew_ \- he could not be with Hawke as long as being together meant forever plunging into that maelstrom of confusion and pain.

Beside him, Hawke slept, oblivious. Attentive even after Fenris had left him.

The steady rhythm of his breathing spoke to a peace Fenris could not find. Stiffly, he levered himself into a sitting position and stepped carefully over Hawke's sleeping form.

Not wanting to risk colliding with objects in the darkness, Fenris lit his brands, biting back a hiss as pain reignited along the sensitive lines. He kept the light dim - just enough to see by - and made his way to the back bedrooms on the lower floor.

He did not know which room Varric had found for the new other... person. The one who looked like him. Like a Fenris who had never had his flesh carved and crammed full of poison dust. A Fenris with dark hair and unblemished skin.

He could guess, though. All the bedrooms on the ground floor were off the same corridor, and only one had a reasonably intact bed. Fenris moved down the corridor until he reached that room, and stood in the door.

By the light of his brands, he saw the figure in the bed shift and open his eyes. Eyes that looked black in the darkness, but which had looked green in the day.

"You," the other Fenris said.

"Me," he confirmed, and entered the room.

The man in the bed sat up and moved back to lean on the headboard. "What do you want?"

Fenris stepped forward and sat next to him. What did he want?

"Answers," he said.

The other man snorted. "And you think _I_ have them?"

Fenris looked down at his hands, the light shining from lines etched down his fingers. "I don't know what to think," he admitted quietly.

"The healer," the man said - Leto, Fenris remembered the name. "Did he tell you what he thought?"

"'The healer' - you mean the mage. Anders."

"Well, healers are mages," Leto said. "So I suppose that would follow. But yes, he asked me to call him Anders."

Fenris pursed his lips. He had seen how easily the mage had led Leto about. He didn't like it. It was... disquieting to see someone who looked so much like himself trust a mage so easily. "That is not all he is," Fenris said, meeting Leto's night-dark eyes. "Did he tell you that?"

Leto sighed and folded his arms. "He told me very little about himself. There were rather more pressing matters. You clearly wish to imply something; I wish you would just say it."

Fenris ground his teeth in irritation. But perhaps telling Leto the person caring for him was an abomination would not be helpful just now. "You should ask him," Fenris said.

"Oh," Leto replied. "Well, I will add it to the list. But you still haven't answered _my_ question. Perhaps you could do that before casting aspersions on the only person who has bothered to tell me anything. Did he tell you what he thinks I am?"

Tension in the other man's voice. "He did," Fenris said shortly.

"And?"

"And it's nonsense," Fenris said, decisively. "You are not - you _cannot_..." he couldn't even say it. "It's preposterous!"

The intensity of Leto's gaze was disturbing, not least because he could not look at those eyes without thinking of his own in the mirror. "Really," Leto said. "Because I-" he broke off and looked away, his throat bobbing, taking a moment to collect himself before looking back. "Because as much as I would like to call _all_ of this preposterous, what Anders said... made sense of it. I might not like it, but it did make sense."

Fenris tried to ignore the emotion in Leto's voice, focusing on his own pain. On what he had come back to again and again since Leto had said it. On what, above all, made him _have_ to believe that Anders was wrong. "You said that you wanted these markings. You fought for them. I - I could never have wanted such a thing. _Never_. These are a _curse_. Another man's will _burned_ into me. If any part of you could have desired this, it isn't possible that you could have come from me."

The gleam of tears falling down Leto's cheeks surprised him. "Perhaps," Leto said, brushing the tears away, "if you remembered a mother and a sister that you loved. Who deserved to be free. You could imagine doing something for someone other than yourself. Seeing _beyond_ your own pain."

There was anger in Leto's voice now. He was angry at Fenris. He thought Fenris was selfish. The realisation was enough of a shock to render him speechless.

Those brief, gossamer memories tugged at him. The red-headed girl with the dirty fingers. A woman with dark hair - here and then gone.

"Perhaps," he said, before he even realised he was talking. "If you knew what it was to remember nothing at all. Nothing but white-hot pain and servitude. Complete submission to someone else's will."

Anger had slipped away from Leto's face to reveal naked anguish. "Do you at least know if they're alive?" he asked, reaching forward to grab Fenris's hand. "Please," he said. "Surely he would have told you. Anders said it was him. That your master was Danarius, the one who ran the competition. Surely he would have told you that Varania was safe. And mother-"

Fenris pulled his hand free. "You think a magister would tell his slave _anything_? I was his tool. His plaything. He owed me nothing. He would not have thought twice about some other slaves that meant nothing to him."

Leto's face fell. "Please," he began - but then there was the sound of feet and another light at the door. The orange glow of a candle.

"Fenris, what are you doing?" Anders' voice. Curse him. "If you're well enough to walk you can make your way to your own bed, but I won't have you in here harassing _him_ \- he's been through more than enough."

"Why is it any business of yours?" Fenris snapped.

Anders set the candle down sharply on the dresser, crossed to the bed, and pulled Fenris physically away. "You made it my business when you nearly killed yourself and brought someone else into the world without any care for what it would mean to them."

"I did _not_ -"

" _I don't care_ , Fenris," Anders said, glaring at him. "I don't care that you didn't know what you were doing. I don't care if you don't believe me now. But _this is your fault_. And it's not his. As far as I can tell he hasn't done a single thing wrong in his eight odd hours of being alive, so whatever you're angry about - whatever you're feeling - he does not deserve this. And I _will_ protect him from you if I have to." Anders held his eyes. "Do you understand, Fenris? Because you are my patient too - whatever you may think of me - and I'd quite like to see you both healthy again, but if you make me choose I have to say: it is a pretty easy fucking choice."

As they stared at one another, Fenris heard more footsteps down the hall.

"Anders? Fenris? What's going on?"

Hawke.

Anders looked away first. "Fenris is being an arse," he said. "Take him away. He's well enough to sleep in his own bed now; so take him there and see that he stays. I won't have him disturbing Leto just because he's angry he made another stupid mistake."

"Anders," Hawke began, holding his hands out for calm.

"No, Hawke," the mage said. "You asked me here. You wanted my help. So let me do my job. Him fucking yelling at himself or - or whatever-" Anders glanced in Leto's direction and seemed to change his mind about what he was going to say. "Or whatever you want to call this situation - it's not helping either of them. We _all_ need some rest. Please."

Hawke sighed. "Come on, Fenris." He reached out a hand, but Fenris shied away from his touch.

Suddenly, he didn't want to be in this room either. Felt pressed in by the lost memories that might lie in Leto, and the memories he feared Hawke's touch would reawaken.

Without saying a word, he turned and left, leaving Hawke, Anders, and Leto behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leto and Fenris awake to face the consequences of the previous day. Leto finds himself intrigued by Anders, and Fenris struggles to understand and accept the consequences of his actions.

Leto woke early the next morning, smoothed down the borrowed clothing he had slept in, and returned to the main hall. The place where he had first... come into being, he supposed.

Anders was there - the healer.

Leto watched for a time from the doorway. He had always been light on his feet, and though his training had added muscle to his frame, it had also taught him to use that lightness to an advantage. Anders did not seem to have heard him approach, so he allowed himself to observe the man unnoticed.

He was tall, and a little bulkier than most of the mages Leto had known, but not by much. He had pointed features that gave him an elegance belied by the rough, human stubble on his cheeks and the carelessly tied-back hair.

Leto found himself smiling. There was an intensity to Anders that drew him. He seemed fierce in defending those around him but careless about himself.

And Fenris had warned him off the man for unnamed reasons, which added a mystique and provoked a contrarian impulse to see just what the mage was hiding - what had angered that other-self so.

Leto cleared his throat, causing Anders to look up from the bread and jam he was unloading from a well-worn sack.

"You're up early," Anders said. "How are you feeling?"

Leto pushed off the door-frame and crossed over to Anders' make-shift breakfast table. "As are you," he pointed out, ignoring Anders' second question, which he did not know how to answer.

The healer shrugged. "I'm not a good sleeper. I find it's better to just get up and be useful. Everyone could use a good breakfast, and Fenris's kitchen was not... plentifully supplied."

Leto looked around the large hall - its corners clogged with cobwebs, paint peeling from its walls, its floor littered with untended debris, including the grisly remains of two mummified corpses. "What is this place?" Leto asked. "Why does he live here?"

Anders shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose he doesn't have anywhere else to go, and no one's using it. But I'd have thought he makes enough from the jobs he does with Hawke to find somewhere better if he wanted." Anders frowned. "It was his master's. Or, it belonged to someone who worked for his master. I was never entirely clear. When we first met him he'd hired Hawke to help him defeat Danarius... sort of. But when we got here it was just lackies trying to draw Fenris out."

Leto looked around the room again. "This belonged to Mast-" he corrected himself, "to Danarius?" Leto tried to imagine the magister in this rotten place, but could not.

"I think so," Anders sighed. "Perhaps that's why Fenris doesn't care for it. I suppose if I found myself in possession of a Templar barracks I'd do it a bit of damage."

Unease rippled through Leto. There was something that felt uniquely _wrong_ about allowing one's master's property to fall into neglect. And a little trickle of fear - would he be blamed for this if Danarius returned here?

But no. If Anders was right, he had never actually been Danarius's property. Fenris was. And it was Fenris who would be called to task for Fenris's acts.

Wouldn't he? Or would the magister simply take Leto instead and redo what had been done to Fenris? It was all Leto could remember wanting, but if it no longer meant freedom for his family - if he were to lose what memories he had and endure what, from Fenris's account, was no blessing at all...

"Are you OK?" Anders asked, concern written on his angular features, sharp lines drawn in his brow.

Leto shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know what to make of this."

The healer smiled. "Well, you don't need to make anything of it yet, if you don't want to. Sit down and have something to eat. No use trying to tackle the day on an empty stomach."

 

***

 

Voices woke Fenris, drifting up from the hall below. He had rolled out of his bed and taken his sword from its scabbard before he was even really awake.

A noise behind him made him spin, the tip of his blade ending its arc pressed against Hawke's bared throat, where he lay in a nest of blankets on the floor.

"Fenris, what?" Sleepy confusion rapidly drained from Hawke's features as he stared at the cold metal.

Memories of last night returned, along with an awareness of a searing, throbbing burn along the markings in his skin.

Memories of Hawke agreeing to help him. Of pain. Of the mage furiously healing him and commanding him to stay still.

Memories of someone who looked so very much like him, and whom Anders thought might be the embodiment of all the other memories he had long lost.

Fenris moved the blade away from Hawke's neck and set it down.

"Sorry," he said. "I am not used to company here. People in the mansion." Or Hawke in his bedroom, as he'd foolishly hoped the man might be again, soon. Not sleeping on the floor, but in his bed, sharing the intimacy of two people at ease with one another. An intimacy that was impossible when Fenris could not even be at ease with himself.

"S'OK," Hawke muttered and yawned, hauling himself up to his feet. "Let me get out of your hair for a minute. Sounds like Anders might already be up."

Yes. Anders. That must be who was downstairs, talking with... Leto.

A lump rose in his throat. Leto. That was what the man had said his name was. Which meant that it had once been his own name.

It did not sit right. He could not feel anything of... _him_ in such a name. And yet... did it stir a memory? Was that wishful thinking, or merely an illusion generated by the suggestion that it might be so?

He grunted. He wished he could do away with Leto. He wished he could take back that potion - throw the poison dust that had promised to be a cure in the face of that withered old maleficar who had tricked him into buying it.

Sighing out his regret, Fenris pulled a change of clothes from his draws and prepared to join the others below.

***

Breakfast was... awkward.

The first and most powerful strain came from sitting two feet from a man who looked exactly like himself, but younger, and unmarked by the lyrium that had scarred his life.

It was hard to say which part of Leto was most distracting. The dark hair, which matched Fenris's eyebrows? A normal colouring that would go unnoticed on the street - the hair colour he must have been born with. Or was it the unblemished, youthful skin that had not been carved by a magister's knife? The details of his face, both strange and familiar - large pores he had seen in the mirror, now viewed from the outside. Were they so obvious to everyone else? The length of his nose? The points of his ears?

Or was it the large green eyes that seemed to turn disturbingly often to Anders? Perhaps it was understandable that Leto should attend to him. Anders had been... surprisingly considerate to this younger self. Perhaps it was gratitude that he was seeing in the younger man's gaze... but it felt rather uncomfortably like interest.

He should have warned Leto more strongly about what Anders was. Whether he was part of Fenris or not, he should know that this was not merely a mage, but an abomination. Without the markings to teach him what mages could do, Leto seemed woefully ignorant of the danger Anders represented.

"So," Anders said, interrupting Fenris's line of thought, "what now?"

Fenris set down his knife. "We undo this," he said. "As quickly as possible."

Leto turned those large eyes on him and stared. "'Undo this,'" he repeated, "What do you mean, 'undo this'? Undo _me_?"

Fenris shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I... I suppose that rather depends on what _you_ are," he said. "If Anders is right and you are _my memories_ then I want those memories back! And if you're not then... you've nothing to worry about have you?"

"Of all the-" Anders slammed down his cup. "I knew you were an idiot, Fenris, but I had no idea you'd happily wipe someone out of existence just to - to what? Ease your discomfort?"

Heat flushed Fenris's cheeks. "You are exaggerating. If he's a part of me then..." Could he be wrong about this? It was so confusing, and he dearly wanted it to be over.

"Fenris, you..." Anders spread his hands wide, seemingly struggling for words, but eventually finding his voice. "What you did yesterday was stupid and irresponsible in the extreme, but to destroy him in some misguided attempt to put things back as they were is unconscionable!"

Fenris looked between their faces - Anders' anger, confusion from Hawke, and a kind of surprised hurt and fear in the face that looked so startlingly like his own. "I-" he began.

"You brought someone into the world, Fenris," Anders said. "Whether you meant to or not you have to take responsibility for that."

It felt as though the bottom had fallen out of his stomach. "I just..." he started again, staring into those large green eyes that were so like his own. "I don't understand," he admitted, feeling the inadequacy of it, but also something darker lurking behind that. Something like despair. "I just want to be whole," he whispered. "If he - if you-" he looked away. "Does this mean my memories are gone forever?"

Nothing more of the little girl with the red hair. No true memories of the woman he thought was his mother.

Nothing.

Nothing but a blank slate that had been written over with Danarius's desires.

Anders sighed. "I don't know. Not necessarily," he said. "But if they are, it's your own fault, and I won't let you take it out on him. I promise you that."

Fenris closed his eyes on hot tears he hadn't expected. He hardly even seemed to know where his feelings were coming from. He couldn't allow himself to fall apart like this. Not in front of Hawke. Not in front of Anders. Certainly not in front of Leto - whatever he truly was.

"Excuse me," Fenris spoke with uncharacteristic quietness, his voice breathy. "I... I can't... I need..." He stood, pushing out his chair. "Excuse me," he said again, and fled the room.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders apologises to Fenris and offers him some hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter. Struggling a bit to write at the moment, but my brain was racing ahead to the sexy bits in this one today and I needed to inch us along towards that goal. Please enjoy this small helping of angst.

"Shit," Anders muttered, watching Fenris retreat.

"That was a bit harsh, Anders," Hawke said, and Anders felt colour rush to his cheeks. "This has all been... well, it's been a bit confusing for everyone, I'd say."

Anders set down the half-eaten hunk of bread he'd had in his hand. "Sorry," he muttered. He caught Leto's worried expression and winced. "Sorry," he said again. "I'll go talk to him."

"No, leave him," Hawke replied, sighing. "He needs his space."

Anders shook his head. "Hawke, he's confused and scared and I'm his healer and I yelled at him. This isn't like bickering on the Wounded Coast." He turned to Leto. "Don't worry. He's not going to do anything to you - I promise. I just need to go talk to him."

Leto nodded mutely. He looked smaller, somehow, since the exchange.

"Why don't you find Leto some new clothes, Hawke," Anders said as he got up. "He wore those to bed. Maybe take him out and buy him something - he should have clothes of his own. It'll give them both some space."

 

***

 

Fenris seemed to have found the dirtiest, most decrepit part of the mansion to hole up in. He was slumped in a pile of moth-eaten sheets, staring blankly at the at the swirling dust he had disturbed.

At Anders' approach he glanced briefly towards the door, and then away.

"I, ummm, I shouldn't have said that. Those things," Anders said. "I can't imagine how confusing this must be."

Fenris shrugged, but didn't meet Anders' eyes. It was uncomfortable to see him looking so lost.

"Leto..." Fenris winced, but Anders went on. "Leto's incredibly vulnerable right now and I was angry with you for putting him in this situation and then wanting to punish him for something he couldn't help. I forgot that you're vulnerable too. I'm sorry."

Fenris screwed up his eyes and grunted in irritation. "There is no need, mage, just leave me."

"No," Anders said, entering the room and squatting down beside him. "You took Maker-knows what yesterday and it could have killed you. I need to make sure you're OK. Let me examine you?"

Fenris hissed out a sigh, but gave a sharp nod. "Fine."

Anders reached out with his magic. Fenris still throbbed with power - almost as a swollen joint would throb - overflowing with the power of lyrium. Justice stirred in its presence. He'd always had an interest in Fenris, but on first seeing the explosion of power coming from Fenris last night he had been almost overwhelmed. Anders had needed to keep him in tight check in order to see to his patients. He pulled the spirit in again now.

"Better than last night," Anders said, "but I can see it's still affecting you. How do you feel?"

"Sore," Fenris admitted. "Everywhere." He opened his eyes and looked at Anders. "Are my memories gone? Is that it?"

"I don't know," Anders replied. "I don't know enough about what caused your memory loss or how Leto came into being to say for sure. I don't suppose you can tell me anything else?"

Fenris folded his lips into a thin line, and Anders thought at first he would say nothing, but eventually he swallowed and spoke again. "I don't really know myself," he said. "I remember Danarius's laboratory, but it is muddled. There was pain. A lot of pain. I believe I vomited, many times. But I do not know if it was during the procedure or after. I think perhaps there was infection - fever. The was... ice, I think, but it felt like burning. I suspect some of what I remember is hallucination, but I do not know what. There may have been demons, or I may have imagined them. There was certainly blood."

He stopped talking, and Anders allowed him the space to see if he would say more. Just as Anders opened his mouth to question him further, Fenris did.

"I don't know if those were my first memories, or..." He sighed. "Sometimes I think I remember a girl with red hair. Perhaps the sister Leto recalls." He leant back against the leg of a broken chair. "Perhaps not."

"You remembered her before last night?"

Fenris nodded.

"And you still remember her now?"

"Barely," he said. "Mage, I am not even sure she was a real memory to begin with."

"But you remembered a girl," Anders pressed, "And Leto had a sister. And even if she wasn't your sister, you remembered her from before the... from before what he did to you."

Fenris nodded again, his eyes still unfocused.

"Then at least some of your memories are still with you," Anders said, hoping he was correct. "Fenris... it's possible that your memories were never really gone. Trauma can sometimes shock the system - make the mind try to wall off the memory of what hurt it. It isn't usually as complete as what you experienced, but then, I don't know that many people could have experienced something like that and lived." He looked down at the deceptively elegant white lines carved into Fenris's flesh. "To be honest, I don't know how it is that you're alive now. A man should not be able to live with that much raw lyrium in his body. Even a small amount can be enough to drive a man mad. Even dwarves are affected if they handle it too much. What you describe - the vomiting and the fever - it could have been an infection. But it also could just have been your body trying to rid itself of the lyrium any way it could."

"So... what, then?" Fenris asked. "What does that mean for me now?"

Anders shrugged. "Well, you look a regenerative potion, as near as I can tell. But if the memories never really went away - if you'd just blocked them as too painful - maybe there wouldn't be anything to regenerate. Maybe all that regenerative energy, plus the lyrium already in you - maybe that went into creating Leto, but didn't really change anything about you at all. The memories might still be there. Perhaps even talking to him about what he remembers could help you recall them."

"'Maybe?'" Fenris said, hope and fear warring in his gaze. "That's a lot of maybes, mage."

"It is," Anders admitted. "But it's not nothing. Come on," he said. "Come back to the hall and eat something. Hawke's taken Leto to the market to find some clothes of his own. Eating will help."

Fenris looked unconvinced, but he surprised Anders by taking his hand and allowing himself to be pulled up.


End file.
